My son asked me the other day, “Dad, would you rather be a human, or an Avatar?”
While there are certainly plenty of questions I don’t see coming from day to day, this one struck me as remarkably peculiar.
First of all, I didn’t even know I had a choice.
It wasn’t until I pulled alongside the custom minivan in Duggan’s parking lot that I realized just how much work had gone into this machine. These people were no doubt serious about their customization job, using only the finest duct tape and Visqueen available to fashion an entire side panel — and sliding door — where the original had presumedly resided at some time.
My grandparents had some kind of odd affinity for poodles that I never really quite understood.
For as long as I can remember, my grandmother had a dog named Danny Boy. Now, as far as I know, we’re not of any particular Irish descent, and I’ve yet to figure out what poodles have to do with Ireland.
But maybe that’s not the point.
In honor of the upcoming 2010 Winter Olympics, I’ve compiled a list of a few unique sports I feel should be considered for entry in this year’s games. I don’t care if they had some kind of deadline for this stuff. Frankly, I think they should have consulted with me long before now.
Another birthday rolled around and literally knocked me off my feet. And since I came up a little short on the shower of gifts I was expecting, I decided to help well-wishers out with a helpful list of what to buy Sean for his birthday.
Don’t worry, it’s reasonable.
As I continue to stumble and fall face first into yet another birthday milestone along the rocky path that is my life, I feel it necessary to comment on having come full circle as a human being.
While the mercury has been holding steady at a relatively mild level the past week or so, I’m not foolish enough to think that it’s all that climate change and global warming stuff I’ve been hoping for. I figure, in another 70 years or so, Homer will become a tropical, sun-kissed beach to rival the Bahamas and the Virgin Islands.
Despite my valiant attempts over the years to spare you from the questionably dysfunctional Christmas chronicles of my youth, I currently feel the urge to share. (And not in that “let’s-all-validate-each-others’-feelings-with-a-group-hug” way.)
So, I’m finding myself in awkward situations around town, now that I have “friended” so many people on Facebook. I mean, there’s a big difference between reading on someone’s “wall” that they “joined the cause” to eradicate colon polyps, and meeting them face-to-face at Safeway.
If you are reading this anywhere within a 15-mile radius of Homer, chances are you, or someone you know, has fallen victim to the latest round of flu. Some like to call it “swine flu,” while others prefer to refer to the vicious virus under its covert military name of H1N1.
I personally choose to call it the “Black Plague of ‘09.” (Notice that is a ‘g’ and not a ‘q.’ If you have plaque on your teeth that’s black…well, that’s just disgusting.)